


Reintegration Moon

by grey_sw (grey)



Category: Tron (Movies), Tron - All Media Types, Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-25
Updated: 2011-02-24
Packaged: 2017-10-15 23:12:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey/pseuds/grey_sw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Legacy, Flynn and Clu find that their struggle for reconciliation has only just begun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://aeon-entwined.livejournal.com/profile)[**aeon_entwined**](http://aeon-entwined.livejournal.com/), [](http://blue-crow.livejournal.com/profile)[**blue_crow**](http://blue-crow.livejournal.com/), and [](http://scowilily.livejournal.com/profile)[**scowilily**](http://scowilily.livejournal.com/) for beta-reading!

"Strangers passing in the street  
By chance two separate glances meet  
And I am you and what I see is me  
And do I take you by the hand  
And lead you through the land  
And help me understand the best I can..." -Pink Floyd, "Echoes"

\---

Reintegration hurt. _Clu_ hurt, more than Flynn had ever imagined, and it took all the strength he had to hold on. It was easy enough to remove himself from the equation, after all those years of meditation; it was harder to admit that Clu's angry, wounded spirit was a part of him, too. The rest of him didn't want Clu back, and it took Flynn long moments to suppress that instinct, to throw his arms wide.

Clu was part of him. Clu _was_ him. Flynn could see himself there, as he might've been: clawing his way toward the portal, step after heavy, impossible step. Reaching for the ones that stood in his way. Howling at the loss of his life's dream, his digital frontier.

Coming apart, bit by bit, only to flow back into Flynn's body. Clu was in agony, all sharp-edged rage and hate, and Flynn didn't have anything to offer him, to help him with. Nothing but the only thing, the gift he'd offered on the bridge a moment ago.

He closed his arms around the last of Clu's code as it rushed toward him, holding it the way he'd hugged his Sam not long before. _I'm sorry,_ he thought. _I'm so damn sorry, man, I never wanted this to--_

Then there was a flash, and the world moved Kevin Flynn beyond things like wants and hopes.

\---

When Flynn opened his eyes, he was seated on a pillow on his favorite ledge, looking out over the Outlands. Everything was black down there, dark and empty. The moon shone down upon the Sea of Simulation, throwing shifting reflections up onto the rocks on the shore.

Flynn blinked, trying to determine if he'd had a dream, or a vision, or maybe a really bad trip. He'd seen things before while meditating, but never anything like that. Sam had been there, and Quorra, and then Clu. They'd switched the discs, and then Clu had kicked him down onto the bridge. Then he'd put his arms out. He'd put his arms out, and...

A wave of dizziness struck him. He closed his eyes tight, shutting out the scene before him. The _lie_ before him. There was no moon in the Grid; instead, the strange glow seemed to come from all around Flynn, from the room itself. The Sea shouldn't have been visible from the Outlands, either. And even if it was, the rocks were all wrong. They were more like the cliffs near the city, but the angle was crazy, like he was looking straight down on them rather than across.

And if those were the cliffs, then Tron City, Tron City was...

"This is your place," his own voice said from behind him. "But my bed is here. What is this?"

Flynn whirled. Clu was there, standing beside a wide, four-poster bed that had appeared out of nowhere in the middle of Flynn's room. The posts glowed yellow, just as the circuits on Clu's armor did, and the duvet on top was blacker than black, edged with more of the yellow. It looked sinfully soft and luxurious; Flynn half-expected to see a velvet nude on the ceiling above it. Or a mirror.

" _That's_ your bed?" Flynn asked. Maybe it wasn't the most intelligent question to be asking, given the fact that he was apparently in the afterlife, but it came out before he could stop it.

"It appears to be. But I have no idea what it's doing here, of all places."

"No kiddin'. You ever get nightmares sleeping in that thing?"

"Of course not," Clu smirked. "Programs don't sleep."

Flynn snorted, and made as if to stand. "Forget I asked," he said. He walked over in his bare feet -- somehow he'd lost his boots and robe, and was back in his usual peasant garb -- to stand in front of Clu, who regarded him with a scowl.

"What is this?" Clu demanded. "What have you done?"

Clu was intimidating up close, not least because the fingers on his right hand kept flexing into a fist. Flynn had been fit when he was younger, but he was pretty sure he'd never been quite that big; he was near-certain that he hadn't made Clu that way, either, yet here he was. His broad chest and shoulders made him look a little like he'd been on the Grid equivalent of the juice, as did the way the circuits over his arm bulged each time he closed his hand. The pissed-off look on his face didn't help, either.

"Hey, chill for a second," Flynn told him. "Just chill. Something's happened, something big, but I don't know what. What do you remember?"

"I was at the portal," Clu said. "I almost made it. I could feel its power, just outside my grasp. And then... and then you..." He frowned, as if he was having trouble remembering what came next.

"I reintegrated you. _Us_. Gotta admit I wasn't expecting this, though; I kinda figured it'd just be me afterward. Or maybe nothing at all."

Both of Clu's hands became fists this time, curling shut within his big black gloves. Despite himself, Flynn took a step back.

"This. This is your fault." Clu jabbed a finger at Flynn's chest. "The portal closed without me, and now you've trapped me here, at the very moment when I should be working. My army, my Grid, leaderless! I ought to--"

Flynn shook his head. "Your army is gone, man. The Grid is _gone_. We blew it up."

"What?" Clu whispered. The color drained from his face, then down through the lines on his chest, the yellow dimming almost to white.

"Look for yourself," Flynn said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder.

Clu looked. He gave a strangled cry, staggering toward the open ledge; at first Flynn thought he meant to throw himself off. He dropped to his knees at the edge, reaching out toward a city that was no longer there. Then he clutched at his heart as though Flynn had shot him.

Maybe he had.

"My system," Clu groaned. "My people, no, _please_..." Flynn watched helplessly as Clu curled in on himself, burying his face in his hands. A strangled noise came out of his throat, half-sob and half-snarl, and his shoulders began to shake.

Flynn remembered this. He'd done the same thing after Clu had murdered the ISOs. He'd cried for hours, alone on the cold stone of the ledge, until he'd finally fallen asleep. He'd mourned for micro-cycles afterward, too, endless weeks in which nothing seemed to matter anymore. He'd lost his dream, his vision. He'd lost everything.

Only finding Quorra alive in the wastelands had been enough to soothe the pain... but there was no Quorra for Clu.

Clu sobbed again, a broken, awful sound. He reached up and yanked on his hair, tearing at it like a penitent. Flynn stepped forward despite himself, fascinated yet horrified by his counterpart's agony. Clu was just like him, _just like him_ , and right now he couldn't see past that, couldn't see the dictator who had ruined the Grid in his need to perfect it. Clu was like him, a man who'd built a great, complex system only to see it ruined... and before Flynn knew it, he was on his knees on the ledge, holding Clu as he cried.

"Hey, shh, it's OK," he whispered, knowing it wasn't true. "It's all right. It'll be all right. Just breathe with me now, OK? Just breathe." A memory filled him: Sam with a scraped knee out on the sidewalk, a long time ago. Clu grabbed at his shirt, pulling him close.

" _Why?_ " Clu groaned. He hid his face against Flynn's chest like a child. "Why? Why didn't you just derezz me?"

Flynn's breath left him in a rush. "No," he said. "No, no, I didn't want-- I could never want-- I..." He couldn't make the words come, couldn't make them express the cold horror that filled him then. So much had been lost to him, so many people. _Everyone._ The thought that Clu might want to join them was too much.

"I didn't mean it," he said finally, as though it mattered. "I didn't mean to. Damn it, Clu, I'm sorry. It's all my fault, I'm so sorry, I messed everything up..." What came out after that was almost a laugh, but it hurt so bad it couldn't have been. He shut his eyes, squeezing them tight against his tears, and buried his face in Clu's hair.

They stayed like that for a long time, creator and created, crying for everything they'd lost.

Slowly, slowly, Flynn came back to himself. He felt all wrung-out, open and empty, as if a giant hand had torn something vital out of his heart. He felt old. At the same time, though, a weight had been lifted from him; when he breathed in, his lungs filled deeper than they had in a long, long time.

Clu was quiet and motionless beside him. Flynn watched him, saying nothing. After a while, Clu shifted, his fingers toying with a smudge on his boot. The color was beginning to come back to him; Flynn watched as dim yellow flowed down the line of his hand, brushing away the dirt.

"I hate you," Clu admitted, without looking at Flynn. "When you told me perfection was-- was unknowable, I hated you so much. I wanted to kill you, but I couldn't. My failure, and now..."

Flynn smiled a tired, crooked smile. "That's not a failure, man. That's good. Means you know more about perfection than you think."

Clu's head snapped up. His eyes blazed. "I know everything about perfection," he snarled. "I built it! I built our perfect system while _you_ were away." His voice broke at the end, as if he'd just remembered his system's fate.

Flynn shook his head. "You still don't understand. Perfection doesn't work that way. It's not something you can build, not something you can touch. It's there, man, but it's never there, it's just... _there_ , y'know?"

Clu gave him a blank look. "Syntax error," he said dryly. "Signal breakdown detected."

Flynn snorted. "Don't play the ignorant program with me," he said. "You can understand this. I know you can. Why won't you try?"

Clu sat up straighter, folding his arms over his chest as if in challenge. "Because it makes no sense. How can a thing be there and not there, perfect and not perfect? It's nothing but contradictory nonsense."

"Yeah, but it's _true_ contradictory nonsense! It's real. I can show you--" Flynn broke off suddenly, brows furrowing in thought. "That's right. I can show you."

Clu eyed him warily. "What?"

"You remember how I showed you the plans for the Grid? And about the outside world, back when you were new? I could do it again. I could show you what I mean, show you everything I've learned over the last thousand cycles."

"What you've learned is insanity. You expect me to open myself to data transfer for that? For illogic and imperfection? No. You're wrong."

Flynn looked out over the dark sea below, hiding a smile. "You sound awful sure about that, Clu. But I know you. You were made to seek the truth, no matter what. Like me. You can't just say I'm wrong, not if there's evidence. You have to _know_. And you can't, can you? It's not rational."

Clu growled under his breath. He lowered his chin, clenching his fists again. For a moment Flynn thought he was going to strike out. "Very well," he finally said. "Permission granted. But if you harm my code..."

Flynn gave him a grin. "Aw, you know I won't. Just think of it as an upgrade."

He scooted close again, right up into Clu's space. Clu looked at him calmly, and then shifted so he could sit cross-legged on the ledge. Flynn knelt before him, patting his knee.

"This'll only take a second. Let's see, interface, uh..."

"Shut up and do it," Clu said. "If you haven't forgotten how, you old--"

Flynn reached out and took Clu's face in his hands, quick as lightning. Clu fell silent. His pupils grew wide, like two black holes. Flynn could feel the whole of Clu's mind open up like a doorway, dark and mysterious beyond the burning yellow threshold.

Quickly, before he could think better of it, Flynn gathered himself and hurled it all through. _He_ didn't fall through the door, yet he did; he felt every second of it, a thousand years of wisdom and chaos, hard-won from the heart of the void. He saw Quorra and Sam, saw the many years he'd spent wandering the wastes of the Grid, saw meditations and Go games by the thousands. All his books were there, and his prayer beads, and his classic light cycle, still the fastest thing on the Grid. He saw his cloister there, his hideaway. It was his and Quorra's home, a white room made of his thoughts, his experience, his loneliness.

He saw Clu and Tron back when they were new, talking together over some point of administration, and their innocence made him want to cry for both of them all over again. Then, as if in an afterimage, he saw Clu the tyrant, Clu the autocrat, resplendent in ugly yellow. Tron lay helpless at his feet, the brave symbol of the Grid enslaved and broken. This was Flynn's greatest nightmare, brought to life by the one he'd trusted the most. He saw it all again: perfection burning, beauty torn down and trampled, the things he'd loved fallen to corruption and waste. This wasn't what he'd meant to teach, not exactly, but it was too late. Shiva was dancing inside Clu's mind, and Flynn could no more stop him than he could stop the world from spinning.

Clu felt it, too. Flynn could see the exact moment when he understood the truth about the ISOs. His eyes grew even wider with shock and rage -- at Flynn? At himself? At the world? -- and then they snapped closed like a shutter.

Flynn jerked back, tearing his hands away as if Clu's face had burned them. Clu turned away from him, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes with a quiet, desperate cry.

"Shit, I'm sorry," Flynn said. "I kinda lost it back there, I--"

"Then it's true," Clu said. His voice was dead, dead like the Outlands were dead. "The ISOs were perfect, and I destroyed them. The ISOs were perfection, and I am-- _Clu is imperfection._ "

Flynn sucked in a breath. "No, man. No. That's not what I meant." He scrambled over and wrapped his arm around Clu's shoulder, pulling him close. "We're _all_ imperfect. All of us together. You, me, Sam, Quorra -- yeah, even the ISOs. They're not perfect, you understand? They're not. No one is. They just... they have a little bit of perfection inside them, that's all. And so do you."

"Me?"

"Yeah, you." Flynn gave him a wan smile. "You think you ran the Grid for a thousand cycles because there's nothing perfect about you?"

Clu said nothing. His head was bowed. His eyes were on his hands, curled uselessly in his lap. The yellow stripe along his finger was barely there, almost extinguished by the darkness that surrounded it, but Clu didn't seem to care.

Flynn watched, feeling helpless and stupid. He'd been there himself, more than once before, lost in his own head. Quorra had pulled him off the ledge a thousand times, shoving food and drink into his hands just so he wouldn't die out there. What was it she always said, though? The thing that got him talking, got him back among the living? What was it?

 _Tell me about your day, Kevin Flynn._

"Give me orders," Clu said abruptly. He looked up, but not into Flynn's eyes; the humble way he bowed his head gave the impression that he might never meet Flynn's eyes again. "Input. Please, User. I have no-- no purpose now."

It would be so easy to leave it at that, Flynn thought. Easy to make Clu his servant again, a simple program to say "yes, User" and "no, User" and "let me please you, User". Easier not to look, not to understand, not to care. Twenty years ago -- a thousand years ago -- he'd have done it without even thinking, and then he'd have run off to race light cycles again.

Twenty years ago, he _had_ done it, and here they were.

"No," Flynn said. He squeezed Clu's shoulder again. "No orders, not anymore. I want... I want you to tell me about your day."

"What?" Clu did meet his eyes, then, and the emptiness in there was enough to tear Flynn's heart out. He really had messed it up, messed it up bad. Clu, Tron, Sam, Alan, the Grid, Encom... everything.

Flynn swallowed. "Tell me about your day. About what you did while I was gone. I showed you what happened to me during all those years, and now I want to know about you." He tried to smile, though he was sure it came out looking pained, but it didn't matter. Clu was looking away from him again.

"Damn it! I know you're better than this. I made you better than this." When Clu failed to reply, Flynn went on. "You opened a unidirectional connection just now. That's why it was so dark behind the door: you wouldn't let me see you. Well, I want to see. I want-- I want to know myself. What I am, what I'm capable of." He paused. "I want to know _you_ , Clu."

Flynn moved over, so that he and Clu were sitting across from each other again. He took Clu's limp, unresisting hand and placed it against his own face. It felt warm and good, more so than he'd expected. He'd almost forgotten the last time they'd touched, two real-world months before the coup. They'd been at the portal. Clu had hugged him goodbye out of nowhere, even though he'd never been as touchy-feely as Flynn himself was, and damn it, Flynn should have seen it coming, should have known, should have cared--

Flynn sighed, suddenly feeling very tired. A tear slipped down his cheek, disappearing into his beard. Clu saw it, saw _him_ , and then they were staring at each other despite themselves, looking into each other's eyes like a pair of strange twins.

The door in Flynn's mind banged open. There was no transition, no mercy given: one second he was alone, and the next there was Clu, blasting through him like a tornado.

 _YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT I DID FOR SUMMER VACATION?_ his own voice boomed, louder than loud. _VERY WELL. YOU WILL SEE._

Flynn saw. He saw the Grid as Clu saw it: a thousand cycles of planning and perseverance, a million lines of perfection seared across the landscape. He saw strength, youth, joy, vitality -- all the things Flynn had left behind to become enlightened, all immensely pleasurable and good. He saw himself defeating his enemies, throwing them down, but he never destroyed them. He showed them his vision instead, in all its beauty and glory. He purified them, healing them, fixing their imperfections until they became eager and strong and beautiful, like him. He stood before them as their leader, their master, and they shouted and screamed for him until he felt his heart could fill no further. It burned like fire, his heart; it burned until he shouted, too, of destiny and victory, of efficiency and fidelity. He would never leave his people, his army, his children. Never, because he had _been_ left, and it hurt, it _hurt_ \--

 _Out there is a new world! Out there is our victory! Out there... is our destiny!_

Flynn wept. He'd done the same thing at Encom: reorgs, layoffs, even takeovers, all according to his personal plan. He'd ignored or gotten rid of everyone who couldn't or wouldn't keep up with him, even family and old friends. Even Alan and Lora, if he was entirely honest with himself. He'd cut them both out of the loop, kept the Grid to himself even as it began to occupy most of his free time. And why not? His frontier was in there, inside the computer. His future was in there. His destiny.

The things he'd grown to despise in Clu, in himself, were the very same things that had driven him to build the Grid in the first place. Yet the Grid was good; he still believed that. He saw himself there, saw _Clu_ there. He was fighting in the Games, racing his cycle so fast that the crowd of spectators blurred into one long, screaming smear of color. He smashed his opponents into dust, all of them, all by himself, and he laughed as they fell, laughed as his own name lit up beside the words HIGH SCORE. He saw himself sparring with Rinzler in an empty arena, spinning and striking, hurling his disc until his arms ached, until he threw back his head and roared with joy.

He saw the rectifier, too. The key to everything. It made his people more perfect, more like him. It gathered them up and spit them back out in his image, better and stronger. It was the end of imperfection, the end of strays and glitches and gridbugs. It ate everything and anything, whatever he gave it, and the more he fed it, the faster it grew. Flynn hadn't thought that Clu's "private initiative" was even possible, but there it was -- all of the programs together, working on one single problem. It was enough to break the barriers of science and technology, medicine and philosophy. It was enough to transform the whole world, the _real_ world, just as Flynn had once dreamed.

And it was beautiful, seen through Clu's eyes. It was.

Flynn squeezed his eyes shut, but the truth was inside him now. He couldn't escape it. He'd spent a thousand years hating Clu, hating himself, hating his own youthful foolishness and perfectionism. But what if he'd been wrong? What if he'd needed those angry, crazy years, needed them to guide him to Sam, to the Grid, to his Zen? Without that part of himself, without _Clu_ , who would he have been?

He knew the answer, now: an old man sitting on a high ledge, waiting for the world to fix his problems. If not for Quorra and Sam, he would have failed, forever, and would never even have admitted it.

Even as he thought so, he reached for inner peace, for the sound the sky made when he knocked on it. The state of no-mind came to him still, as if the sky didn't care if his identical twin was a computer-fascist... and Kevin Flynn was enlightened.

He saw beyond thought, beyond the trappings of consciousness, to what Clu truly was: hundreds of thousands of lines of code. The admin-AI Flynn had written was at the very center, the core, but it didn't look quite the same... and all around it were countless subroutines, spiraling out like minor galaxies. It was like looking at the digital DNA of an ISO, only so very different. The ISOs were organic algorithms, collections of thought-nodes linked by randomized, triple-helix tree-branches, but Clu's code was ordered, almost severely so. It was more like architecture, built brick-by-brick into something which transcended bricks entirely. Every line, every block, every subroutine was a triumph of elegant minimalism, all the way up to the overall structure, in a way no human programmer could ever have matched. And as Flynn watched, fascinated, it began to _move_.

One of the lines he'd been watching jumped suddenly, popping in again halfway across the code-base, only to flicker and change. An output statement joined it for a second, then a correction to the original line, and then the output statement cut out again. The process repeated somewhere else, and then in a third place. Then the whole structure rippled like the surface of a pond, reflecting the changes all the way up to the top. It was as if an Ur-Programmer was in the middle of debugging, only there was nobody there.

No one but Clu.

Change, constant change. Clu's code was changing _itself_ , and change plus time meant... evolution. Flynn had just seen proof that non-isomorphic algorithms of sufficient complexity could become self-generating. Self-improving. Alive.

"Amazing," he breathed. "I never knew. I--"

The door closed within his mind. Flynn opened his eyes and saw Clu again, for the very first time. He grinned and slapped his knee. "Hey, you are _far out_ , man! You know that? I'm impressed!"

Clu just stared at him. His eyebrows scrunched together, as if he was trying to figure out whether he was being insulted.

"I mean it," Flynn said. "I understand now. I see what you were trying to do with the Grid. You wanted it to be good, didn't you? You wanted to make it awe-inspiring, radical, world-changing, just like I asked you to... and you did your best for us, for our system. Better than I ever could have asked of you."

"But you said it was wrong, imperfect--"

"Yes. Yes, it was, especially at the end. It was terrible, Clu. But it was perfect, too... especially at the end."

Clu scowled and shook his head. "I don't think I'll ever understand this," he said.

Flynn smiled. "You will. Someday. But the thing I really want you to understand is... I'm proud of you, man. Real proud. You did good." He opened his arms, like he had on the bridge.

Clu stared at him for a second, wide-eyed. Flynn would always remember that moment, afterward. It seemed like they stayed that way for a long time, cross-legged on the ledge like a couple of monks, a foot apart and a world away.

Then Clu reached out. He laid his hand on Flynn's arm, carefully, as though afraid Flynn might vanish. Flynn pulled him in, turning the motion into a tentative hug.

"There, you see?" he said. "That wasn't so hard." He rubbed Clu's back in wide, gentle circles. Finally, as if in slow motion, Clu buried his face in Flynn's shoulder.

"User," he muttered. There was a deep bitterness in his tone, as if the word still wounded him, but there was need, too. "My User. You came back."

"Yeah," Flynn said. He thumped Clu between the shoulder blades, hard, just to prove he was real. "Yeah, I'm back. Sorry, OK? Sorry I left, sorry I broke the Grid. Sorry I was a stupid kid who told you to make everything perfect. Just... sorry."

"As am I," Clu said, very quietly. "About the ISOs. I... apologize, Kevin Flynn."

Flynn sighed and squeezed Clu's shoulders again. The circuits there looked strong once more, bright and rich beneath his fingers. "I forgive you," he said. "Don't get me wrong -- I miss 'em, y'know? Every day. I cried my eyes out when you killed them, just sat here and cried for _ages_. But they manifested from nothing, nothing at all, and I believe in that. In the miracle. They might come back to us someday, if the conditions are right. They might."

Clu nodded against his shoulder. "I hope they do. I hope--"

He broke off suddenly, groaning as if Flynn had hurt him. Flynn looked down at him, down at his circuits. The lines beneath his hands burned like fire. Gold light flowed from his fingertips into Clu's circuits, bright as the sun, spreading outwards in wide, warm pulses. Flynn had almost forgotten he could do that. It made him think of the old system, of the hidden energy-spring he and Tron and Ram had found together. He remembered how it had felt to drink from that pool, to glut himself on the power of the Grid. He'd have stayed there forever if he could.

He leaned in close, grinning at the way Clu's eyes were screwed shut. "Feels good, huh?" he chuckled. His breath whispered against the hairs on the back of Clu's neck. Clu groaned again, gasping out half-words which made no sense. He reached out to grab Flynn's forearms, squeezing hard.

"Ow! What--"

Clu snapped his head up, transfixing Flynn with his gaze. The yellow light was starting to show there, too, burning in the depths of his eyes. His jaw worked for a moment, but no sound came out. Finally, it did: "Don't. Stop."

Flynn didn't. He was feeling it too, now. His light, the power of the User. It had been so long he'd nearly forgotten, but now it was back again. It poured out of his shirt-sleeves like two shafts of sunlight, and shone up from his collar until he had to squint at the world through a curtain of blue-white haze.

"Nice," he muttered. "Remember this, man? When I built the system? When I made _you?_ Felt just like this."

Clu turned away from him. "I remember," he said. "I remember what it felt like... to be made." He looked down at the ledge, frowning at the warped reflection of his face that swam in the polished rock. Flynn watched as Clu leaned forward, hands balanced on his knees, hunching his shoulders over his reflection. He almost looked as if he meant to dive down into it, like Alice through the mirror.

A minute passed, and then another. Clu's shoulders began to shake. Flynn reached for him, gently, not knowing what to say. "Hey, what's the matter? What--"

Clu gave a harsh, sudden cry, a formless roar of anger and denial. He caught Flynn's arm and yanked him forward, hard enough to hurt. Then he grabbed Flynn's shoulders, shook him once, and flung him back with an audible snarl. Flynn slammed into the rock wall, banging the back of his head against it. The ledge swam all around him: the light, the rock, the darkness, the vivid yellow smear that was Clu. The blackness of the edge opened up just to his left. Half a foot further and he'd have been gone, falling forever into the Sea.

Clu smashed into him, growling, grabbing, tearing open his shirt, pressing him back into the rock. Flynn thought he was being killed. He struggled, kicking out with his feet, but it didn't do anything. Clu was too big, too strong, too bright. He was on top of him, his chest hot against Flynn's, his fingers digging into Flynn's shoulders. He pinned them against the wall, his whole weight bearing down on Flynn's body, and then pressed his mouth against Flynn's.

Flynn bit him. He was still panicked, still convinced Clu was trying to kill him, so he caught Clu's bottom lip between his teeth and bore down. He tasted metal as it tore, crumbling into digital dust beneath his teeth the way programs did when you hurt them. Clu just kissed him harder, fumbling against him, his breath hot against Flynn's lips. His hands came up to frame Flynn's face, fingers carding into his beard, in his hair. He was bright like fire, yellow fire, and the incandescent circuits along his hands left afterimages floating in Flynn's eyes.

Clu bent to nuzzle against Flynn's cheek. He dragged his injured lip over the hairs of Flynn's beard, over his own possessive fingers. "Hate you," he muttered. "Hate you, but I _love_ you..."

Flynn managed to suck in a breath. "I know, Clu. Me, too." He'd spent a thousand years trying to forgive, to understand, and he wasn't sure he'd ever be finished. He sighed, and then reached out to stroke Clu's hair. It was thick beneath his fingers, thick and the slightest bit curly, so like his own. He found himself frowning behind his beard. Had he ever been so young?

Clu looked up at him again, with wide, desperate eyes. Too late, Flynn remembered what the light did to programs, how it made them feel. How it made _him_ feel. It was still bright within him, shining up through his collar, turning Clu's every touch into liquid gold; when Clu kissed him again, he opened for him, running his tongue over Clu's lips. The cut he'd made was already healing, knitting together beneath the tip of his tongue, as if Clu's code was busy smoothing away the imperfection.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-Legacy, Flynn and Clu find that their struggle for reconciliation has only just begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [](http://aeon-entwined.livejournal.com/profile)[**aeon_entwined**](http://aeon-entwined.livejournal.com/), [](http://blue-crow.livejournal.com/profile)[**blue_crow**](http://blue-crow.livejournal.com/), and [](http://scowilily.livejournal.com/profile)[**scowilily**](http://scowilily.livejournal.com/) for beta-reading!

"User," Clu hissed, making it sound like an epithet. He pressed even closer, hooking his leg over Flynn's so he could rub up against him. Flynn could feel the hard ridge of Clu's dick even through the suit; it felt good against his bare belly, so good. It brought back warm memories of him and Clu and Tron, back when the world was new.

It had been a long damn time. Too long. His own cock was getting hard, too, growing and filling down there, rubbing delightfully against his boxers... and what had he been pretending to be up here, a fucking _monk_? Uh-uh, no way. He was Flynn, Kevin Flynn, the User, the Creator. This world was his.

He leaned forward, suddenly hungry, but Clu slammed him back against the wall, hard, rutting against him. He sank his teeth into Flynn's neck, right where it met his shoulder, almost hard enough to draw blood. Then he licked the spot until it burned. He pulled back between each stroke, glaring up at Flynn in a fierce, animal challenge. Flynn got the point: bad time to assert his dominance. He'd destroyed Clu's dream, and now Clu was eager to pay him back, eager to prove he was more than the slave he'd begged Flynn to make of him only moments ago.

 _Maybe too eager_ , Flynn thought, as Clu wrapped his fists in Flynn's shirt and dragged him up against the wall. He held Flynn there, only inches from the ledge, his feet not quite touching the ground. Flynn flicked his eyes out over the edge, almost unconsciously, and Clu caught him at it: the superior smirk Clu gave him made his stomach clench and his cock twitch.

"I ought to break you, User." Clu drew close, right up into Flynn's face. His eyes were thin slits, alight with the barest hint of gold. He took one hand off Flynn's shoulders, still pinning him against the wall with the other -- fuck, how strong _was_ he? -- and curled it around Flynn's neck, squeezing delicately. Flynn spluttered, struggled, gasped at the way Clu's thumb dug into the soft flesh beneath his chin. It hurt, but somehow it hurt good; he was hard, so hard, desperate to be touched but still not sure whether Clu meant to get him off or rip his head off.

Clu kissed him then, his hungry lips bullying Flynn's mouth open so he could thrust his tongue inside. It wiped out the last of Flynn's air, but somehow he didn't care. He just wanted, wanted, dizzy with need. He could feel it boiling inside him, spinning and whirling. He ran his tongue over Clu's, drawing it deeper in, tasting it. Clu tasted like copper, like a penny or a wire, like blood-flavor. Spots swam in front of Flynn's eyes. That wasn't the way Clu tasted back then, back when his light was white instead of yellow. It wasn't.

Clu let him go. He dropped down onto his feet, gasping, clutching his neck. His vision cleared. Then Clu grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt, marched him forward four steps, and hurled him down onto the bed.

The duvet was as soft as Flynn had expected, like satin. It felt sleek against his aching throat. He stretched out for a second or two, grateful for the chance to breathe. Then he looked back over his shoulder.

Clu had derezzed the top half of his suit. His hands were on his hips, just where the bottom half ended, and he was grinning down at Flynn as if amused by his predicament. He still had Flynn's tan from twenty years ago, and his circuits burned brightly against it. These, at least, had changed. Back when Flynn had made him, he'd had a broad white bar over the right side of his chest, and nothing more. Over the years it had grown into an odd, repetitious line of slashes over his heart, with a simpler bar on the left side. Both glowed yellow, fierce and angry, so unlike the white light Flynn had given him. The bright lines ran from twin nodes on Clu's shoulders down along his abdomen and hips, almost as if designed to frame his erection, which was still obscenely visible beneath the bottom half of his suit. His cockhead was peeking out over the edge, just a little, as if eager to be free. The sight of it made Flynn's mouth water. He'd been alone for _way_ too long; he couldn't believe how much he wanted this, wanted Clu, as if the gulf of years between them had suddenly vanished.

The rest of Clu's suit began to peel away, melting pixel-by-pixel down into his skin. He gave a soft groan as his cock popped out. It bobbed before him as his suit finished derezzing, vanishing right down to the tops of his boots. Flynn was a bit relieved to see that this part of Clu was still the same as his own, thick and uncut. As he watched, Clu began to stroke himself, squeezing from the tip of his dick all the way down to the root. The lines that ran from his hand up to his shoulder rolled and bunched as he pumped his fist, mirroring his musculature.

 _Tron warned me that circuits were important,_ Flynn thought, watching as they rippled just beneath Clu's skin. _Marks of status, marks of complexity. He **told** me Clu was becoming dangerous. Guess I should have listened._

"You want this, don't you?" Clu smirked. "You want _me_." He laid his other hand flat against his stomach, his thumb toying with his navel.

"Yeah," Flynn admitted. His voice came out all rusty, as if he hadn't used it for a while. "Come on, man, it's been a long time, don't mess with me..."

Clu's eyes narrowed. He strode forward, still in his heavy boots, and pushed Flynn down onto the bed. "Shut up," he growled, his hand wide and warm upon Flynn's back. He hooked his other arm behind Flynn's knees, folding him up onto all fours. Flynn shuddered, groaning as the position put more pressure on his trapped cock.

Flynn's shirt was hanging off of him, already ripped right down the front. When Clu pulled it off, the torn edges went flying. He tugged at Flynn's pants, too, pulling them down until only his boxers remained. Flynn could feel the bed shift as Clu climbed on, looming over him. He was close, so close that Flynn could feel his presence, but not quite close enough to touch. It made the hairs on his back stand on end. When Clu finally curled a hand around the back of his neck, he had to clench his jaw to keep from crying out at how intense it felt.

"Let me please you, User," Clu told him, his mouth tantalizingly close to Flynn's ear. The cruel, mocking tone he used made Flynn's guts constrict... but he'd _said_ it, just like in the old days, and that brought a little comfort. Then Clu began to stroke him, possessive hands running over Flynn's neck and hips and back. He paused to play with Flynn's prayer bracelet, nudging it to and fro until the beads rattled; Flynn gasped at the feel of them ghosting over the sensitive skin inside his wrist, just above his pulse. Then Clu moved on, squeezing his shoulders, rubbing his back. The touch was more exploratory than anything else, slow and precise, as if Clu was indulging his curiosity.

Flynn remembered what Clu had said on the bridge -- _the cycles haven't been kind!_ \-- but it didn't matter much to him. He was proud of his body, even now; a thousand years of yoga and tai-chi had been pretty damned good for him. He felt no shame as Clu squeezed his thighs and ass, as though measuring them against his own. Then Clu reached in between, brushing the back of his hand against the front of Flynn's boxers, as though by accident. Flynn hissed, arching, but Clu merely chuckled and moved on, testing his knees and his calves, tracing the callouses on the bottoms of his feet.

Clu crouched back there for what seemed like a long time, until Flynn could barely stand it anymore. Then, finally, Clu reached up, yanking Flynn's boxers down and away. The shock of cool air against Flynn's erection was wonderful. He bucked, groaning, wanting more. He seemed to hear a soft, serious voice, as if from far away: _isn't he beautiful, Clu? Our User? Make him do it again._

Tron. The thought was like a blast of cold water; it made Flynn's heart ache, made his cock shrink so fast it hurt. _Tron._ He should be here. He should be here, but he wasn't, because Clu had taken him. Clu had changed him, _killed_ him--

Clu chose that moment to loom over him again, pressing much of his weight upon his back. He slammed his palms down beside Flynn's, arm against arm. Flynn caught a glimpse of his prideful smile, so obviously pleased by the comparison, by his own size and power. He leaned down over Flynn, rubbing the length of his cock against Flynn's ass, working it between his cheeks.

Flynn growled, actually growled aloud. A terrible, radiant anger filled him, the strongest hate he'd felt in years. It burned behind his eyes until all he could see was white; his jaw clenched until it hurt, until he could hear his teeth grinding in his ears. He wanted to kill, to avenge, to bring Tron back through murder and fire. If he had only known the spell or cantrip, the words to speak to make the grinning spectre above him shrivel and die, he would have shouted them then. He would have delighted in Clu's pain, the way Clu must have delighted in Tron's, would've made him suffer and beg...

The moment passed, as all moments do. Clu ran one hand down Flynn's chest, tweaking a nipple, dipping into his navel, tugging through his pubic hair. The hand was controlling, dominating, too ambitious by half. But it didn't hurt him, and eventually Flynn came back to himself. Bit by bit, his rage drained away, leaving him feeling tired and ashamed in its wake. What good was his Zen -- what good was Tron's sacrifice if he came this far only to destroy?

Clu wrapped his arm around Flynn's waist, still rubbing his dick against him. He was so real, so alive, as fierce in his own way as Flynn had been only a moment ago. But he, too, had spared Flynn on the bridge, even though he was about the least-Zen being Flynn could imagine. Why?

Clu's other hand came up to stroke his beard, then, scratching at the whiskers on his cheekbones. Flynn grunted, suddenly bearing the weight of Clu's body. He was so heavy, so hot, and Flynn couldn't help but begin to grow hard again. He moaned as Clu's first two fingers teased at his lips, moaned again as he opened and drew them inside. They were thick and blunt, and the circuit that burned along Clu's index finger felt feverish beneath his tongue, like sun-warmed iron. He licked it eagerly, drawing a shudder out of Clu.

"Do that again," Clu groaned. "More..."

Flynn did. He laved along that bright line with his tongue, delighting in the difference between the circuit and the rest of Clu's flesh. He ran his teeth over it, carefully, from the base of Clu's finger all the way to the tip, enjoying the way Clu shook above him. Then he closed his lips around Clu's fingers and began to suckle.

"Ahh. Yes, like that, suck it, suck it harder..."

Clu gripped Flynn tight, lifting him up against his body. His cock was so hard against Flynn's ass he thought it might burst then and there. Flynn could feel it, could feel the slick trail it left as it slid over his thighs. It was doing something to him, filling him with need, with something more than need. Power boiled inside him, whirling in his gut, turning like the wheel of the sun.

He remembered creating the Grid. He remembered kneeling down in a great, empty field, a young man all alone in jeans and a leather jacket, calling forth existence from the void. He'd written it, of course; he remembered that even now, remembered lines of code that rolled endlessly behind his eyes. He'd worked for years, years that took just weeks in his world, but that wasn't what it had felt like -- not like programming, not like sitting at a desk somewhere. No, it had felt like this. Like _power_. He'd laid his palms upon the ground and filled it with life, with light, with love. He'd poured out his heart until he'd given all the best of himself, and then the Grid had come into being.

Clu drew his fingers from Flynn's mouth, slick with saliva. He let go of Flynn's waist with his other hand, brushing against the front of Flynn's cock as he did so -- and _oh_ , that was good, so damned good, Flynn humped against air for half a minute afterward -- and planted it on the bed. He leaned over it with a thoughtful hum, spreading Flynn's ass with wet fingers.

Flynn howled. He couldn't help it. The power inside him was just too much. He couldn't see, couldn't hear, swallowed up by his own blue-white light. When Clu finally pushed a finger inside him, he thought he'd died. It hurt, first sharp and then a dull, spreading ache; after all the lonely years he wasn't ready for it, even though he'd never felt so ready in his life. He stilled, and felt Clu grow still, too, waiting out the storm.

The power. It was in him, so bright, like the sun. Like his Grid, alive again inside his heart. He'd loved it so much, more than anything else. He'd lived there so long he'd forgotten the real world, until not even Sam's love could bring him back. He'd longed for it to be right, to be _perfect_ , with such terrible fervency that he and Clu had destroyed it... but as Clu added another finger, as he stretched Flynn's tight, aching flesh, Flynn finally understood.

The Grid. He could make it live again. He was still the User, the Creator. Deep within his mind, he envisioned it: an empty field, a sky that flowed with dark clouds, a man all in white with grey, windswept hair. Himself, seen through his own mind's eye. He knelt there, on fertile ground, and the chaos within him began to build.

It started with light, the way it had the first time. Lines of light-blue power stretched into the distance, sketching out the shape of a world, of a city. Were they like freeways? Like buildings? Flynn refused to decide; he imposed no rules on them, no order. They spread out in all directions, just as if they were alive, coalescing into strange, organic shapes. Like the beautiful city the ISOs had built, in the days before Clu had destroyed them.

"Flynn," Clu muttered behind him. " _User._ Can't wait anymore, have to fuck you..."

Flynn wanted to scream. He tried to shout, to cry _no_ , but all that came out was a groan, a long, drawn-out "nnngh." It sounded shamefully hungry, even though he was sure he didn't want this anymore, he didn't, all he wanted was his Grid...

Clu pushed in, exquisitely slow, breaking through the tight ring of Flynn's ass. He rumbled with pleasure and joy, the cry of a conqueror, sinking in all the way to the hilt. Flynn squirmed helplessly beneath him, inadvertently making it better for Clu, making it good. Clu was so thick, so hot, so big. His cock was like fire, splitting Flynn in two; it took all the patience he'd ever learned to keep from tensing up, to remember to breathe as Clu filled him up.

Flynn's Grid roiled inside him, growing exponentially, shifting and flowing like water. Chaos: good news. Buildings rose and fell, new avenues curving around them like roots. Towers burst through the ground, straining toward the sky, their reflections shining down upon the Sea of Simulation. Programs were born from nothing, thousands of them, dancing in the streets as their city transformed around them. Flynn shone with light -- Flynn _was_ light -- and there was wonder in his heart as he lifted Tron from the bottom of the Sea and made him live again, laying him to rest upon the shore.

Flynn's champion lay curled on the beach like a child, like a little boy with sand in his hair, snoring as his world came together around him.

 _Programs don't sleep,_ Flynn thought, but it felt right for Tron just the same.

Above Flynn, around him, Clu began to move. He pulled out, almost all the way, until Flynn could feel the broad head of his cock begin to breach him again. Then he shoved back in with a groan. Strong hands wrapped around Flynn's waist, fingers digging for purchase, pulling him close as Clu began to thrust in earnest.

The Grid was almost ready, almost finished. Almost _perfect_. But Clu was with Flynn now, inside him, and he, too, could feel it. Flynn felt him jerk with surprise, grunting against his shoulder, suddenly aware that Flynn had something he wanted. He seemed to plunge straight down into Flynn's heart, seeking the Grid, reaching for it with his big, black gloves.

Flynn fought. He threw up barriers, hurled bolts of lightning, struck at Clu with fists that burned blue in his mind. Clu smashed all of it aside, pressing down on him. The more Flynn struggled, the stronger Clu became, feeding upon his resistance, hard dick pounding into him over and over. Flynn thrashed beneath him, tossing and rolling his head. He screamed inside for Tron to help him, to save him, but Tron slept on, locked within a Grid that was yet to be born.

Clu was riding Flynn now, owning him, marking his hips with his fingernails. Each breath came out of him in a grunt, deep and low like a beast. He went deeper and harder with each successive stroke, and Flynn could almost feel the obscene ecstasy in every move, the tremendous hunger that drove him. Clu had the User within his grasp, the User who had hurt him and left him all alone, and he was going to take and take and _take_ until there was nothing left. Nothing but Clu.

Flynn took the nascent Grid and fled with it, retreating deep down into himself. Clu followed. He cornered Flynn there, in the dark, amidst fear and self-doubt. His mighty gloves seemed to block out all light, even the Grid itself. He was going to take it, going to tear it from Flynn's hands and corrupt it, and there was nothing Flynn could do to stop him. Just like before. His Grid, his world, the world he had made, would be lost to him forever.

Flynn was undone, brimming with lust and agony. He groaned, unable to stop the shameful tears from soaking down into his beard. His cock was beginning to weep, too, smearing hot fluid against his belly. He wanted to touch it, wanted to make himself come so the torture would be over, but he couldn't; his arms felt like two thin straws, barely strong enough to hold him upright beneath Clu's onslaught. This was Clu's game, now, and the only way to win...

Understanding blossomed within Flynn's mind. All of a sudden he knew -- he _knew_ what he'd done wrong. It was right there in everything, in every word Clu had ever said to him, but he'd never been able to see it. He'd been afraid to see it. Now he had, though, and it wasn't so bad. It fit together like a koan, like a puzzle: impossible until it was solved, yet so obvious afterward. The terror died inside him, leaving strength and calm in its wake, a serenity that seeped down into his bones. He was strong enough to hold on, even as Clu writhed above and within him. He was strong enough to turn, at last, and face his fear.

Clu. He was still inside him, there at the bottom of Flynn's heart, but he didn't seem so terribly large anymore. He was just him, after all. Just Kevin Flynn, a programmer with old, tired eyes. Kevin Flynn: a man who'd spent a thousand years searching for meaning, chasing after perfection, trapped within his own world because he only had part of the key.

Clu stepped forward, then, within Flynn's mind. His helmet closed around him, cold and impersonal, and he reached out with gloved hands to take the Grid. Flynn looked down at it one last time. It shimmered up at him, reflecting his light like a sculpture carved from blue crystal. His Grid was emergent and transcendent, brimming with potential. It was a world his ISOs might one day be proud to live in, if they came back. _When_ they came back. It was just as he had always wanted it to be.

Flynn shut his eyes, fixing the image of the Grid within his thoughts. He wanted to remember it forever, just the way it was, so he could dream of it later. Then he lifted it, offering it up to Clu. It lay balanced upon his open hands, like a promise.

Clu stopped. Flynn felt him freeze against him, all the way in, his hips jerking in confused, half-hearted little thrusts. Clu gave a gasp that was almost a laugh. "Flynn, wh-what..."

Flynn smiled. The motion wrung sweat from his beard and moustache, beading over his lips. He savored it, lapping it up with his tongue. It tasted like life. "C'mon, man," he drawled. "C'mon now. Take it. Move for me. Fill me up, don't stop, don't fucking stop! Help me, Clu." He squeezed his ass, making it tight around Clu, urging him on.

Clu grabbed Flynn so hard he almost lost his grip on the sheets. His arms felt solid and strong against Flynn's chest, strong and almost unbearably warm. " _Yes,_ " Clu growled. "Yes, want to, want to help, oh _User_..." He started to move again, pulling almost all the way out and then burying himself inside Flynn. Flynn's ass was on fire from all that pounding, and these slower, more deliberate thrusts were drawing the pain out even further, making him shiver.

"Goddamn, c'mon, take it! Take it..."

Clu was there within his mind, looking down at the Grid in Flynn's hands. His helmet retracted once more, and he shot Flynn a pointed, narrow look -- _you think you can sucker me again?_ Flynn felt ashamed and appalled by Clu's lack of trust. It made him think of Quorra, who'd loved and trusted Flynn, who had believed all her life that he was good and wise. Who had ever believed in Clu? Jarvis? Tron? Rinzler, perhaps. Only Rinzler, and that meant he'd had to program someone to--

Flynn's mind skipped like a record. He didn't want to think about how lonely it must have been. Clu had been twenty-thousand lines of FORTRAN, written by a crazy kid in 1983; for fuck's sake, there were _gotos_ inside him, yet he'd taken that foundation and built his own life from it, his own world. He'd decided for himself that he would be strong and wise, a luminary, a liberator, and he'd given his own heart for that goal, had _grown_ a heart from nothing and then given it to the Grid. To his system, as harsh and totalitarian as it was.

 _You promised we would change the world together! You broke your promise._

"I know. I understand that now," Flynn murmured aloud, though no one had spoken. He was still bucking beneath Clu, desperate to be touched, reality bleeding through his epiphany like ink. "But we still can. To-- together. Please, Clu, _please_ , help me..."

Clu came forward to hold him, giving Flynn a little breathing room. He reached down and tangled his fingers in Flynn's, as if he meant to share Flynn's handful of covers. His hips stuttered against Flynn's in a quick, steady rhythm. "W-want to help," he muttered, nuzzling Flynn's shoulder. "Want to..."

"You can. You've always-- helped me," Flynn gasped. He thought of Quorra and Sam on the Ducati, living free; he thought of himself, up on his ledge, growing quiet and wise. "I thought we were fighting, but... _always_. You're a miracle, man."

Clu grabbed him up tighter than tight, pressing so deep his balls snugged against Flynn's skin, so close he thought they'd reintegrate again. Clu made a noise like he was breaking, a short, inhuman, electronic cry. It sounded for all the world like he was a toaster Flynn had just dropped into a bucket of water. Such was his reaction to that word, that single, stupid word Flynn had always reserved for the ISOs and never for Clu or Tron -- never for Clu, never for the program he'd written that had come to life.

The chaos inside Flynn was greater than it had ever been before. It wanted to break free and create the Grid, _now_ , and when Clu finally touched it it tried to smash him, tried to make those thousands of lines of code weaken and fly apart. They didn't. Clu was order, stability, structure. He closed his fists around the Grid with fearless arrogance, an iron grip solid and sure. The Grid stilled within his hands as if it remembered him, but he made no move to lift it away. The circuits along his fingers nestled against Flynn's hands, as though they belonged there, and he and Flynn held the Grid together, between them, _together_.

Clu's circuits flared, growing bright like a star, just as Flynn's own light had moments before.

The Grid flickered, changing beneath Clu's gaze. The wide, swooping curves of the streets became more direct, more even. Buildings and towers sprouted straight lines and hard edges. Flynn squalled, upset at the loss of perfection, but then he let it go. The more he looked at them, the more Clu's changes seemed to fit what he'd made. It felt like he and Clu were working together to uncover a second layer of brushstrokes, another image that had always lain beneath his version of the city.

New light blossomed everywhere, in black and red and orange: MCP colors, Clu-colors, neon streamers that made the blue and white of Flynn's Grid seem even more brilliant than before. The edges of the city rushed outwards in every direction, stretching like wings. New highways roared deep into the Outlands, streetlights blinking into being by the thousands. Fields of glowing I/O nodes crept right up to the beach, until their glittering reflections danced in the waves... waves which were growing clear and pure again, as Clu took the virus he'd used to poison the Sea back into himself.

Clu buried his face in Flynn's back, licking and nipping as he thrust, sinking his teeth into the hollow below Flynn's shoulderblade. The stripes along his shoulders were so hot that Flynn could barely stand to touch them, so bright that he was afraid the bed might catch flame. They seemed to pulse along with Flynn's heartbeat... or was that his own light? He wasn't sure anymore, wasn't sure of anything except helpless, desperate lust. He bucked his hips, shoving back against Clu's next stroke, begging without words for even more. Finally, without warning, Clu wrapped his hand around Flynn's hard cock. He pulled and tugged at it, cupping his fingers up around the head so he could slick pre-cum up and down the shaft.

Flynn yelled. The world went white, white and yellow, filling him with images of the Grid. Time stretched like molasses; he couldn't tell if they'd been at it for five minutes or fifty, five years or a hundred. Code rolled behind his eyes again: half his, half written in Clu's aggressively minimalist style. Clu had taken on his User privileges, and life itself was within his grasp. Flynn was sure that _he_ hadn't brought Jarvis back, at least, much less put him in charge of the entire ALU. He hadn't laid Rinzler beside Tron on the shores of the Sea, either, yet the electronic growl that came out of the warrior's helmet mingled with Tron's snoring just the same. Flynn listened, mesmerized, until he could no longer tell which was which.

Slowly, the sound of Clu's breathing overtook him again. His hand felt so good on Flynn's dick, better than anything. He knew just how to touch it, of _course_ he did, and he chose a rhythm Flynn could match, his fist tight and warm. He squeezed and stroked, applying just enough pressure to tempt Flynn to thrust. Flynn did, clenching his stomach as he humped up into Clu's hand. Clu backed off a bit, as if to punish him, moving back to caress Flynn's tight, swollen balls. He rolled them between his fingers in a slow, aimless way, almost as if it was a game, as if he wanted to see how long Flynn could stand it. Flynn pushed back against him, gasping.

"Dammit don't-- not now, come _on_..."

Clu just laughed at him, his innate cruelty awakened by Flynn's distress. He rubbed right at the base of Flynn's dick with the pads of his fingers, teasing in little circles, and then finally went back to stroking him again. He used the circuit along his finger to his advantage, letting it whisper against Flynn's skin. It followed along behind Clu's fingernail, sending delicious spikes of heat shooting up into Flynn's groin.

Flynn groaned, rolled his hips, screwed his eyes shut to block out the too-tempting sight of Clu's clever fingers stroking his cock. He saw the Grid instead, watching as a tide of new programs streamed down into the streets. They mingled with Flynn's white-lit people, laughing and chattering together, like long-lost family. Most were insignificant beings, actuarials and schedulers and arithmetic functions, yet Clu was bringing thousands of them forth in a deliberate, specific act of creation. Flynn didn't understand why. The Grid had plenty of programs like them, after all. More than enough.

Clu began to stroke Flynn faster, harder, squeezing until he yelped from the pressure on his straining, hyper-sensitive dick. Clu growled and gripped Flynn's waist with his other hand, digging his nails in, raising little quarter-moons of red on his skin. He was angry again, and moving like he meant it -- he slammed into Flynn without mercy, balls slapping against Flynn's ass with every stroke.

Red. The new programs were all red, every last one of them.

Clu's army.

"Bastard," Clu snarled, still riding Flynn hard. "Coward! I promised I'd set them free. I swore I'd never leave them, and you... you..." Clu began to splutter, descending into wordlessness in his anger. The harsh smack of flesh on flesh spoke for him, pounding Flynn into shocked silence.

The arena appeared in the center of the Grid, announcing itself with a rumble of thunder. There was no harmony here, no attempt at reconciliation. It broke through the ground like a massive fist, smashing Flynn's crystal towers into digital debris. Programs tumbled from its rising edges, screaming, dying before their world was even born. Still it grew, swallowing whole blocks. It was easily twice the size as the old arena, and as Flynn watched, it began to fill: the Disc Wars court shimmered and shifted, thirty-two cells forming and reforming above an impossibly vast light cycle track. The arena was a riot of color, blue and black and red all scrambled together... and at the very top, high above the scoreboard and the Disc court, the word CLU burned in fifty-foot yellow letters.

"H--hey!" Flynn ground out. "That is _not cool_ , man, that-- ah, fuck! Fuck!" He squirmed within Clu's grip, as hot, irrational anger swelled inside him. Something about the combination of Clu's dick and that damned sign had slipped inside his armor, had blown apart all his carefully-crafted Zen. It was supposed to say Flynn up there, _Flynn_ , like his arcade, like his book and _his_ OS and _his_ goddamned Grid. This was his place, and Clu had profaned it with this disgusting arena, had ruined it with his cruel games. Clu had ruined everything, everything, and--

Clu dug his nails into Flynn's back, ripping four wide, short lines below his shoulder. He shouted "I promised!" again, but the beginning of it blurred into a ragged sob. Flynn heard _you promised!_ , like on the bridge, and that was enough to bring him to his senses, just like a cold dash of water.

Clu wanted him to fight. He wanted Flynn to struggle, to justify his rage so he could strike back even stronger. It was all he knew, this anger; anger, and the pain that was so clearly visible beneath it, the wound that kept bleeding through into his voice. If Flynn fought him now, he'd lose -- to fight him _was_ to lose, to give Clu even more reason to hate. It'd start things all over again, another thousand years worth of suffering.

Flynn groaned in dismay. Clu was thrusting madly into him, lifting him up off the bed, jerking him back and forth like a toy. Flynn's dick slapped merrily against his stomach and thighs whenever Clu wasn't pulling on it, and both induced broad waves of pleasure-pain. Flynn had to grit his teeth to keep from crying out. He refused to move, though, refused to sob and yell and bleed the way Clu wanted him to. He locked his arms, ignoring the way they trembled, and clutched the duvet like an anchor in a storm.

"I'm not--" he started. Clu yanked on his cock again, stealing his breath. "I'm n-not gonna fight you, Clu." He reached down into Clu's arena and made one change, just one: he made the Games non-lethal, so that any programs that lost would live to fight again. He left that idiotic sign just as it was, bright and ostentatious, shining over the city like a monument to hubris.

This was Flynn's world. He didn't need to have his name on it.

Even that small change was enough to ignite Clu's rage. He ranted and swore, screaming out filth until spit flew from his lips and rained down on Flynn's aching back. Flynn hadn't realized that Clu knew what a pig _was_ , much less that it counted as a member of the set of fuckable objects; some distant part of him was absorbed with wonder at how well his creation had mastered obscenity. Clu howled and bellowed, pulled his lips back from his teeth and snarled like an animal. He dragged Jordan into it, insulted Tron's memory, said things about Sam and Quorra that made Flynn's heart ache. He swore death to the ISOs and death to the Users and death to his own Creator, in a voice that knew no mercy.

Flynn listened through all of it, patient to the last. It was what it was, but at the same time, it was only _you promised! You promised!_ , all just a hundred reflections of the same long-held agony. Clu was finally letting it out, draining the poison. He rolled and snapped his hips, going deep and then shallow in a sharp, staccato rhythm. He was almost graceful in his directionless anger, graceful in the vicious thrusts which went on even after he'd finally fallen silent.

"I'm sorry," Flynn gasped. Clu pumped into him still, arching over him. "Sorry, so sorry, it's my fault, I'm so damn sorry man..." Apologies tumbled from Flynn's lips, running together until his tongue tripped over itself. He stopped making sense, babbling formlessly, a thousand fugues on the subject of _sorry_. There was so much guilt in his heart, such blame. He'd never realized the full extent of it. Poison, just like Clu's. He lowered his head and sobbed, slamming back against Clu's dick, trying to punish himself. It was his fault, everything was his fault, he was tired and old and he needed to _come_...

They fucked like that for a handful of minutes, though it seemed much longer. Afterward, Flynn would have sworn he'd spent weeks that way, long days just pouring out pain. Gradually, though, Clu began to slow. He was easing off, losing his grip on his anger, starting to thrust toward pleasure rather than pain. Flynn, too, remembered how to breathe again. He smiled sadly, allowing himself a quiet chuckle at Clu's forgetfulness. He'd learned that lesson with Jordan: it was hard to stay mad at somebody when you were balls-deep inside them, no matter how much you wanted to.

Finally, Clu leaned over him again. He grabbed a fistful of Flynn's hair and pulled his head back -- not hard, not as hard as he could've -- and spoke into Flynn's ear.

"My system was perfect. Perfect! And you _broke_ it, you old fool." His tone belied his words, though: it was full of regret and doubt, the voice of a man who had only just come to understand that he _hadn't_ found perfection. Not really.

Flynn smiled over his shoulder at him. "I know. You gonna help me make a new one, or what?"

Clu snorted. He ran his hand through Flynn's hair, stroking him aimlessly. "Why? If perfection is-- is unknowable, what purpose is there in creation?"

Flynn thought about that for a while. "Creators... _Users_ like you and me have to find our own purpose, Clu. We don't come with one."

Clu said nothing. Flynn wasn't sure if it was the overall concept that had stumped him, or the radical idea of being included as a User. Maybe both. Either way, he started to move again, stroking his flagging dick to full staff inside Flynn's ass. The feel of it growing was amazing; something from nothing, like the ISOs. Like life.

Surprisingly, neither of them had wrecked the Grid during their respective tantrums. It was almost ready, a new world filled with its own living people. Flynn bore down around Clu, encouraging him to make it better, to make it real. Clu was hard again, gloriously so, the power of youth alive in him; it made Flynn jealous even beyond how good it felt.

"Come on, do it, make me come. Need you Clu, come on, harder!"

Clu rumbled above him, thrusting deep. He leaned back a little, changing the angle, and suddenly he was hitting _that spot_ , the thick head of his cock sending shockwaves of pleasure shooting through Flynn's body. It was all he could do to hold on, to deny himself, to feel it without feeling it, without letting his leaking cock erupt.

 _This,_ he thought distantly, _is fucking Zen, man._

That gave him a bright idea. Without thinking, he reached his hand back toward Clu's hip. He'd barely managed to touch it when his other arm gave out, with one last ignominious tremble. He took a slow-motion header toward the bed, folding down onto it with a yelp. It felt good against his dick, the slide of flesh against satin giving him a whole new universe of sensation.

Clu gave an oath as his cock popped out of Flynn's ass. Then he moved down to cover him, even as Flynn looked back up at him. Clu was still wearing those boots. They were sticking straight out behind him with the tips glowing yellow, and the sight of them made Flynn want to giggle... right up until the tip of Clu's heavy cock started rubbing against him. It was slippery and hot and so fucking big, swollen to the limit. Flynn couldn't help but yell as Clu straddled him, pulled his hips up, and pushed inside him again.

Flynn's thoughts were starting to go a little haywire; the Grid was whirling inside him like a tornado, ready to explode. He remembered his idea just as Clu was hitting his stride, his broad thighs snug against Flynn's sides. Flynn reached back, laid his hand over the node on Clu's hip, and fed it with all the energy he could muster. His own light felt to him like happiness and warmth and fine weed, the best things he knew.

He half expected Clu to reject those good vibes, just on general principle, but he didn't. He soaked them up like a sponge, stretching above Flynn like a god, filling him again and again. Flynn began to writhe, rubbing himself against the bed. He was desperate to feel, to finish.

"F-fuck, fuck, Clu, oh Clu..."

Clu reached around him, fishing beneath him until he found Flynn's leaking cock. He wrapped his fist around it, warm and tight. Flynn gasped, his hands scrabbling for purchase. He yanked on the covers until they caught, pulling himself up against them. Before he knew it, he was bouncing between Clu's dick and his hand, slamming his hips forward and back. He couldn't stop, couldn't decide which he liked better, couldn't do anything but fill and be filled in a desperate, jerky rhythm.

Clu reached up with his left hand, tracing Flynn's Disc. There was a group of circuits above it, the only ones a User like Flynn had; they were white against his flushed skin, small and difficult to spot against the relative brilliance of the Disc. Flynn wriggled, distantly aware that he ought to hide them, but Clu found them with ease. He stroked them with one finger, tracing the pattern. Streams of white light shifted within it, always just beyond the tip of his finger, sending little sparks dancing behind Flynn's eyes. Then Clu laid his hand there, circuit to circuit, closing the connection.

Flynn screamed. Golden light flooded him in powerful, insistent pulses. He'd always assumed that Clu's yellow indicated corruption and selfishness, but it didn't feel that way. It made his heart thump even faster in his chest, made his dick swell past the point of pain. For an instant he felt strong, stronger than anything, better than everything. Clu's hunger was his, Clu's need his, and it felt pure and good. He rode astride the entire world on his light cycle, his Ducati; he stood in front of a crowd and roared until they roared back. All of it, _all_ of it was his -- his world, his people, his joy.

There were memories in it, too. Flynn saw himself creating Clu, and gasped at how much that recollection hurt. He saw Clu, on his knees beside Tron after the coup, trying to undo the nightmare. He saw his own hands, Clu's hands, trembling as he tried to push little digital chunks of throat and jaw and teeth back where they were supposed to go. Horror tinged the memory with blurred imprecision, as if neither he nor Clu could bear to see it head-on.

Then he remembered a room, a room that was the opposite of this one: dark walls, a white bed, an older man moving over a young one. He remembered the play of the city lights on the window, blue and white like winter back home. He could see the glass of energy on the table, could hear the way Clu had begged for him that time. The first time. He'd loved Clu then, deep and warm. He'd loved Clu the way he'd always loved Tron, his heart filled with wonder at the glory of his creation.

Clu had looked up at him, with eyes so innocent and new, and Flynn had spoken to him. He'd said something, he'd said--

"We're going to be partners, Flynn," Clu told him, his voice a quiet echo of those long-ago words. "We're gonna change the world, just the two of us. I promise. I promise... we'll make it _perfect_."

Those words sent Flynn over the edge, gasping, pumping into Clu's hand. They'd been just words to Flynn, but all at once he knew how much they'd had meant to Clu: they were like the sun coming up, like waves on the beach, like coming home to the best place he'd ever been. They were everything that had ever mattered, and they made the Grid real in a single stroke. It whirled away, bursting from Flynn's mind like a bird from its nest. All he could see was light. He writhed against Clu, coming and coming, painting the bed and his own belly with slick heat. There was so much of it, so much it seemed like it would never end, a thousand years' worth at least. It felt unbelievable, hot and glorious, like his whole life was pouring out of him. Clu milked him even when it was over, stroked and squeezed him until his cock was soft and empty, so sensitive Flynn tried to squirm away.

Clu grabbed Flynn's waist and rode him for another long minute, his hips moving quick and shallow, panting each breath. He gave and gave, grunting with effort. "K-Kevin, Kevin, I-" he groaned -- oh, how many years had it been since Clu had called him that? -- and then he pushed deep, deep as he could go, and finished with a roar of triumph. He trembled for what seemed like forever, and then pulled out and slumped bonelessly against Flynn's back.

Flynn lay there for a while, with Clu's head nestled against his shoulder. He ached, but he felt sated, too, full right down to the bottom of his heart. The wheels of his mind weren't catching, not the way they should; thinking felt like walking uphill against the wind. He tried just to be for a moment, staring at the dark blob the bedspread made in front of his eyes. Finally, he tilted his head and looked at Clu.

Clu's eyes were wide, blue, and utterly empty.

 _Lights are on, but nobody's home,_ Flynn thought. _That's gonna be one hell of a reboot._

Even as he thought so, he yawned, nuzzling his face against the covers. He was tired, weary beyond measure, and Clu was heavy and warm. Not even the wet spot beneath him seemed to matter now. He reached over and pulled Clu's arm over him like a blanket, snuggling close. Then he sighed, closed his eyes, and dropped off to sleep.


	3. Reintegration Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-Legacy, Flynn and Clu find that their struggle for reconciliation has only just begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [](http://aeon-entwined.livejournal.com/profile)[**aeon_entwined**](http://aeon-entwined.livejournal.com/), [](http://blue-crow.livejournal.com/profile)[**blue_crow**](http://blue-crow.livejournal.com/), and [](http://scowilily.livejournal.com/profile)[**scowilily**](http://scowilily.livejournal.com/) for beta-reading!

Flynn woke slowly, floating up through successive layers of sleep. The bed felt safe and snug, and he was vaguely aware of having dreamed about Tron. He thought he should tell Quorra about that, because he hadn't dreamed of Tron in years, not since the revolution failed. Not since...

 _It's a sign._

Not since yesterday morning. Flynn opened his eyes, flitting them this way and that. His room was the same: plain, white, sterile. He hadn't noticed before, but someone had busted the table, and scattered his centerpiece all over the floor. His light cycle was missing, which made sense because the bed was right where it used to be; his meditation pillow was missing, and that _didn't_ make sense until he spotted it, lying in a sad little heap by the wall.

Beside him, Clu sighed softly, and Flynn came awake with an abrupt finality. For a long moment he lay there, half-hoping he'd had a crazy dream.

He knew he hadn't. He opened his eyes and glanced over.

Clu was stretched out beside him, with his left hand propped behind him like a pillow. He was toying with his chest, stroking it idly. As Flynn watched, he ran his fingers over his nipple, swirling around it. He tweaked and pinched it until it stood up hard, and then slid his hand over to the circuit which ran beside it. His eyes were half-lidded, gazing out over the ledge in front of the bed. Soft neon lights shone from far below, playing over his face: orange and blue and white.

"My city," Clu murmured, still stroking himself. "My system."

" _Our_ system," Flynn corrected gently. He half expected Clu to deny it, to rant and rave, to shout that it was his system because _he_ had made it perfect. Instead, Clu smiled.

"Yes. Our system."

Flynn had never seen such contentment on that face. Clu's brows were smooth and even, and the soft light made him look even younger than usual. It made Flynn wonder if he hadn't held onto a few of those good vibes Flynn had tried to give him, a little of the peace he'd meant to teach. Just then, Clu ran a finger along his circuits again. Bright caterpillars of light began to chase each other through his system, zig-zagging down the odd, six-slash ladder above his heart.

Flynn blinked. He counted again.

He could've sworn that Clu had five of those last night.

After another long moment, Clu scratched himself and then sat up, moving to perch on the end of the bed. Flynn could only see his back, broad and solid beneath the brightness of his Disc. Clu leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees.

"Flynn?" he asked, in a small voice.

"Yeah?"

"Do you really think the ISOs will come back?"

The question sparked an unexpected anger in Flynn. He wanted to throw it right back into Clu's face. He wanted to yell at him for even asking, for daring to believe that the ISOs' return would fix everything. Even if the ISOs did come back, they'd be new individuals; the lives Clu had destroyed were dead forever, murdered forever. Nothing could bring back Giles and Ophelia, or the city of Arjia. Nothing could ever bring back Quorra's friends, Quorra's _family_.

Flynn opened his mouth to snap at him, but something in the set of Clu's shoulders made him hold his tongue. He stared for a long moment at the way Clu's head was bowed, at the tight ball his linked hands made before him.

"Yeah, Clu," he sighed. "I think so. They'll come back someday."

There were too many things he couldn't say. He'd come to understand that during his years on the Grid: some lessons you _couldn't_ learn, not from someone else. Not until you were ready. Clu would have to come to terms with what he'd done in his own time, in his own way. There would be no excuses to save him then, no lies to soothe the shame of having betrayed thousands of his own people. He'd killed them, countless programs who'd loved him and hailed him as their Leader, all for a perfect system that could never, ever exist. Flynn thought of Clu's army, seemingly so precious to him; that guilt would find him someday, even if the ISOs never did.

And then there was Tron.

Clu ran both hands through his hair, smoothing his curls back into place. He stood and stretched, every inch of him arching up toward the ceiling -- Flynn decided then and there that _he_ was going to be on top next time -- and then re-rezzed his suit. Its pixels flowed outward from Clu's Disc, blacker than black. They closed over his back and legs, until his circuits stood out in stark relief, and then his coat rezzed around him. It was heavy, floor-length, trimmed in broad swathes of yellow which made Clu seem even bigger and brighter than before. Pure intimidation, at least from a Grid standpoint.

Flynn shook his head. He couldn't imagine himself wearing something like that, not even at Clu's apparent age, yet Clu carried it as if it weighed nothing at all. He'd been lord of the Grid for so long that it'd become a part of him, the way Zen was part of Flynn; he didn't seem to notice the way it swirled around his boots as he walked to the ledge. He stared down at the city below, stepping this way and that, taking it in from every angle. His hand lifted, slowly, as though he longed to touch it.

The Grid was back again. Flynn played his fingers over the prayer-beads on his wrist, mulling over what that might mean. If the Grid was back, then so was the portal, and that meant access to the outside. He couldn't help but hope that Sam and Quorra would show up to bust him out of this place... if it even _was_ a place. Part of him still wondered whether he was already dead, locked in a one-room version of the afterlife. He might've ascended to a new plane of digital existence, something he wasn't equipped to understand -- maybe he'd simulated the room and its furnishings himself, just to keep from going insane. Or maybe it was all in his head: a fantasy concocted by his frying neurons as he died on the bridge, giving him one last chance to make his peace with Clu before they both dissolved into nothingness. Perhaps the white room was the inside of his own skull, and the gap in the rock was his eyes, and Clu's rumpled bed was nothing more than what was left of his poor, burnt-out brain...

 _You're gettin' maudlin in your old age, man,_ he thought to himself. _You should know that **how** and **why** don't always come with easy answers. Just live in the moment._

Having finished his inspection of the Grid, Clu folded his hands behind the small of his back. He began to pace along the edge of the rock, five slow, measured steps up and then five back. Flynn watched him for a while.

"Hey," he finally called. Clu didn't react. "Hey! You gonna do that 'til the ISOs get here?"

Clu gave him a pointed look, as if he'd asked a stupid question. He went on pacing.

Flynn sighed, ran his hands through his hair, and rolled off the bed. He stretched, yawning, and then stared down at his own body. He ached, especially down there, but not nearly as much as he'd expected to. It was a good burn, kind of like the way he used to feel after a particularly bitchin' yoga session. Sure, injuries healed faster on the Grid, but this fast? Maybe he really was on a higher plane.

Or maybe _he'd_ held onto part of the gift Clu had given him, a small taste of how it felt to be forever young.

He shrugged and re-rezzed his clothes, a linen shirt and pants just the same as before. Then he glanced up at Clu, who was still pacing. The exact timing of his steps made him look like the computer program he was -- Flynn could've used him as a metronome, if he'd had his guitar. Clu's expression was even, too, as if he'd zoned out entirely. His constant motion was starting to get on Flynn's nerves. Didn't he know how to sit still?

"C'mere a second," Flynn said, after Clu completed another circuit of the ledge. "I want to teach you something."

Clu stopped where he was, and his expression sprang to life. He narrowed his eyes at Flynn.

"Someone should teach _you_ to be quiet," he said dryly.

Flynn just grinned at him. "C'mon, you'll like this. It's something special."

He walked over and retrieved his meditation pillow from where it had fallen last night. Clu came close, watching as he put it back in its usual spot in front of the ledge. Then he brushed off the top with reverent hands.

"There we go. You're gonna need one of these too, so..." Flynn bent to touch on the floor, but Clu clapped a hand on his shoulder, stopping him halfway. Flynn glanced up at him.

"Hey, be my guest," he said. Clu nodded, knelt, and laid his gloved hand on the floor. The tile beneath his hand shimmered briefly, streams of code flowing within it. Then a perfect copy of Flynn's pillow rose out of the floor, nestled beneath Clu's hand. He picked at the fabric with two fingers, as if unsure of its purpose.

"It's a zafu, a meditation pillow. You sit on it, like this." Flynn lowered himself gingerly, quite aware of his tender ass, but it didn't hurt as much as he'd feared. Clu looked down at him, his face a perfect picture of skepticism.

"You sit on it," he repeated. "And?"

"And you _breathe_ , man. That's all. It's a way of listening to yourself, and then listening beyond yourself."

"There is nothing beyond myself," Clu said. Flynn gave him a sour look, disappointed by his selfishness, but Clu went on as if to explain. "Before I was written, I was nothing. When I am derezzed, I'll be nothing once more. My energy will return to the Grid, to the Sea."

"Who told you that?" Flynn asked. He hadn't expected philosophy from Clu.

"It's the way of things. The way of the System. If you look closely enough at the energy levels on the Grid, sometimes you can see it in action. Especially..."

"Yeah?"

Clu's eyes narrowed. "Especially when you derezz ten thousand ISOs all at once."

Flynn looked away, suddenly very glad to be sitting. He breathed in and out, feeling the air move through his body, letting the anger and pain flow over him.

"Sorry," Clu said, after a while. "I shouldn't have said..."

"Forget it," Flynn murmured, at peace once more. "Just sit."

Clu crouched down on one knee, and made an awkward attempt to kneel on the pillow. He ended up hovering half-over it, with one glove and one boot flat on the floor.

Flynn smiled despite himself. "C'mon, man. Take your shoes off. You can't sit seiza in combat boots."

Clu gave his boot a peevish glare as it dissolved. Flynn was amused to see that the angular circuit on top also ran right across the tops of Clu's bare toes. Then Clu lowered himself onto the pillow, glanced over at Flynn, and arranged himself to match. His long coat pooled around him, its wide yellow lines intense against the white tiles of the floor. Flynn looked at him in his finery, and then at himself in his plain white shirt, shaking his head. They could have been a monk and his daimyo, five hundred years ago; they could've been a programmer and his living program, sitting in the middle of a computer.

Both ideas seemed too heavy by half, so he decided they would be just Clu and Flynn.

"Okay," Flynn said. "We're gonna breathe together. Shut your eyes and breathe in through your nose, all the way down into your center. Focus on that, on the breathing, and let your thoughts fall away."

"Programs don't really breathe," Clu pointed out. "You know tha--"

"It doesn't matter, Clu. Focus on the _simulation_ of breathing. Just-- just feel it. Feel what it's like just to sit, to be still, to be here with me."

Clu sighed, shifted, and then closed his eyes and began to breathe. Flynn grinned to himself. Then he schooled his expression into his very best Zen Face, eyes still on Clu, and began to count silently.

He got to forty-seven before Clu's breathing broke.

"It's not working," he growled, glaring across at Flynn. "I have _too many thoughts._ "

"I know, buddy. Trust me, I know. That's why this is so important. It doesn't come easy, not at first, but you'll get it. I promise."

Clu shifted again, restless and angry. His hand curled into a fist. "I don't like this. Can't I just--" He broke off, looking down and away.

"What?" Flynn asked gently. "What do you feel? What does this make you want to do?"

"I want to move," Clu said. He slashed his hand through the air, as if words alone were not enough. "Want to get up and pace, to clear my mind."

Flynn raised an eyebrow. Perhaps pacing was a form of active meditation for Clu, something he'd discovered for himself during those long centuries on the Grid. If so, he'd surprised Flynn again. He kept doing that, kept holding up a mirror where Flynn expected to see a warped, distorted image of himself. Clu seemed to catch all of his expectations, turning them a hundred and eighty degrees; hidden within his selfishness was a kind of self _ful_ ness, a centeredness that Flynn hadn't ever thought to look for. It reminded Flynn that he had a long road to walk, just as Clu did, unending lessons left to learn.

"OK," he said at last. "Forget breathing. We're gonna try a metaphor, maybe that'll work better for you."

"A metaphor."

Flynn nodded, slapping Clu's knee. "Yeah. If being still drives you crazy, then don't think of it that way. Think of it as... as knocking on the sky, and listening to the sound it makes."

"Chimes," Clu said instantly.

"Huh?"

"I've done it. It sounds like chimes." When Flynn stared at him, Clu simply shrugged, an easy, fluid motion. "There's a hatch on the roof of the End of Line Club."

Flynn imagined that for a second: himself at Clu's age, all alone at the top of the world, stretching up to rap his knuckles on the sky. It was perfect, a perfect picture, and before he knew it he'd started to laugh.

Clu scowled, insulted, and the prideful, haughty look on his face fit the picture so well it made Flynn laugh even harder. His mirth tore out of him in great, whooping bursts; he couldn't breathe, couldn't stop, couldn't even move except to bury his beard in his hands and let it all out.

Clu stared at Flynn as he gasped, bent double on his pillow, trembling like a madman. Slowly, as if by degrees, the corner of his mouth turned up. Then he began to laugh, too: first a low chuckle that bubbled out from between his lips, and then a loud, open roar, until their mingled merriment filled the room.

It was as if, after a thousand years, someone had finally let him in on the joke.

\---

Elsewhere, in a city made from light, thousands of programs resumed their functions. They had no leader, now, and no real need for one. Danger was everywhere -- gridbugs, glitches, even rogue programs eager to prey upon their fellows -- but they helped each other when they needed to, coming together in emergent crowds to fix and improve. Energy was all they required, and that was as plentiful as the rain, pooling in every concave surface. There were arguments now and again, petty squabbles over favorite chairs at the End of Line, but they meant only a bit or a byte more than nothing.

Likewise, many believed that the distant ball of light in the sky was a gift from the Creator, Kevin Flynn. Others said it must be Clu up there, the Great Luminary, still watching over the people he'd sworn never to betray. It was not a serious debate, though. There was love to be made, work to be done, file upon file to process. There were games to be played in a fantastic arena complete with unbeatable twin champions; who had time to argue? Everyone was too busy cheering for their favorite in the Challenge of the Grid, too busy drinking and dancing, and all the while bright waves washed upon the shore of the Sea.

They lived in a system more beautiful than they'd ever dreamed, where all information was open and free, and in their innocence they dared to believe it perfect.


End file.
